


A Convergence of Cousins

by mific



Category: Elementary (TV), Hawaii Five-0 (2010), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Entomology, Forensics, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2172414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawaii may never be the same...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Convergence of Cousins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyburg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyburg/gifts).



> A bit of fun written for the Crossovering challenge 2014. I have no idea about the three canon timelines so we'll handwave those. Giant thanks to Busaikko for a very helpful beta and good suggestions to improve the story.

"I don't imagine there's the remotest chance of a decent cup of tea," muttered John. 

He was sweaty and uncomfortable after the long plane trip. Sherlock had been a dick most of the way across the Pacific, lecturing him on forensic entomology until a flight attendant had asked him to desist, as it was upsetting nearby passengers. Not that they called them passengers any more. No, they were all "guests" these days. Presumably the euphemism attempted to draw a veil of cosy welcome across the reality of paying a fortune to be confined with a couple of hundred strangers in an aluminium can filled with inadequately filtered and oxygenated air and stupefied with mass-produced Hollywood pap. And then there was the food. Add to that Sherlock expounding interminably on larvae and pupae – it had been utter hell and John was relieved to finally collect their luggage and escape the airport.

Sherlock swept them out to the taxi rank. "Americans are congenitally incapable of making tea, John, as you well know," he said, bundling their bags into the cab and shoving John into the blissfully cool interior ahead of him. "The water won't be properly hot, and they'll put that non-dairy creamer stuff in it. You'll have to choke down coffee instead – I gather they grow a few bushes here."

"I'll manage," John said grudgingly, "as long as you stop banging on about _Chrysomya Ruficacies_ and _Creophillus Maxillosus_ and the revolting things they do to dead bodies."

Sherlock leaned forward and gave the driver the name of their hotel, then slumped back against the seat and eyed John. "For a doctor, you're remarkably squeamish. Anyway, _Chrysomya Ruficacies_ and _Creophillus Maxillosus_ are why we're here in Honolulu on this balmy tropical day."

"It's not the weather that's barmy," muttered John, given that it was 30 degrees in the shade outside and thank Christ for air conditioned taxis. But he wasn't going to argue with Sherlock's insistence that the insects consuming the body of a man found in a back alley in Lestrade's patch could only have hailed from Hawaii. That way lay another tedious and nauseating two hour lecture on screw-worm flies and sarcophagids.

+++++++++++++++

John refused to go anywhere until they'd checked in, dumped their bags and he'd had a shower. Sherlock paced impatiently outside the bathroom, calling out "Hurry up, John," intermittently. John stuck his head under the cool spray and shut his eyes, thinking resentfully that despite his restless activity Sherlock would doubtless show no signs of perspiration, which was very annoying, given how red-faced and sticky John had been since they arrived. He wondered yet again if Sherlock was in fact an android cunningly constructed so as to feign human bodily functions such as drinking tea, but whose makers hadn't bothered with minor accessories like sweat glands. Unlikely, though, given the range of Sherlock's bodily functions with which John was personally acquainted.

Once John had reluctantly parted from the bathroom's obscenely luxurious towels and gotten himself dressed, Sherlock, who'd acknowledged the tropical weather only by removing his greatcoat and scarf, dragged John downstairs and into another taxi, heading for the offices of the team they'd come here to meet. The decomposing man back in London apparently had links to a criminal gang intermittently active in the Hawaiian islands.

"Five-O. Hawaii Fifty?" asked John, reading the card Lestrade had given Sherlock back in London. He was stalling, reluctant to exit the air conditioned bliss of the taxi now they'd reached their destination. "Weird name. What sort of a team is it?" He peered out the cab's window. "And why's it based in a palace?"

"It's a task force set up by the Governor, apparently," said Sherlock, unfolding his legs from the taxi, undaunted by the Versailles-like facade or the statue of a Hawaiian big-wig out front. John got out of the cab and sauntered over to read the plaque. King Kamehameha I, apparently. The King was wearing a loin-cloth, a cape and a tall, crested helmet, all in fetching gold leaf. 

John rejoined Sherlock, glancing up at the ornate façade of the palace with a grimace. "I'd feel better if you'd arranged things with this Five-O lot in advance, or let Lestrade oil the wheels."

Sherlock tapped his nose. "The element of surprise," he said, knowingly. 

"I'm not especially keen on your 'surprises'," said John, frowning. "They involve murder and mayhem rather too often for my taste." He peered up at Sherlock, who, true to form, looked annoyingly cool. John's shirt was sticking to him. "Come on – what's the real reason you didn't get us an appointment?"

"First impressions can be very telling," said Sherlock.

"What? Oh…you think the task force are dirty? Involved with the criminals in some way?"

"I'm ruling nothing out at this stage," said Sherlock, eyes narrowed as he squinted up at a double row of mock-Classical columns. "Other than any chance of being offered drinkable tea." They started up the front steps. "Even if they are clean, I expect they could use some help," added Sherlock airily. "There can't be much crime-solving expertise out here."

+++++++++++++++

"Steve!" yelled the short blond man, after some introductions. "Get your ass out here, McGarrett, we got company!" He looked as though his tie was choking him, even in the air conditioned cool of the building. John stared at him disbelievingly. A tie? In this climate?

"Yeah, so like I was saying," continued the man – Detective Sergeant Danny Williams, he'd said he was called, "I'm from the Mainland – that's what we call the continental US of A here. I figured I better explain that, since you Brits won't get the accent."

"Newark, New Jersey," said Sherlock dismissively. "The vowels are unique."

John elbowed Sherlock. "Manners, Sherlock," he said, then, to Danny, "Sorry. He studies regional accents. It's one of his things."

"Yeah?" said Danny. He eyed Sherlock narrowly then grinned. "A smartass, huh." He clapped Sherlock on the arm. "That makes two of us." Sherlock looked pained.

Sherlock produced Lestrade's letter, and Williams studied it briefly, frowning. He peered dubiously at Sherlock, then at John, and licked his lips. Beside John, Sherlock stiffened. 

"Ah, yeah, just one moment while I go get my colleague, okay?" said Danny. He turned towards a back door leading to more offices and ran smack into a tall, frowning, dark-haired man. "What?" said the tall guy. "Who?–" 

Williams grabbed his arm and dragged him off, leaning in to mutter rapidly, waving the letter and casting glances back at John and Sherlock. John frowned. Perhaps they _were_ in league with the bad guys. They were acting very strangely. 

The dark-haired guy stepped forward, looking grim, stopping just inside the inner doorway with Williams behind him. John watched him scope them for weapons, rapidly assessing their threat-level while keeping exit options open. Military, or ex-military, and John would put ten quid on him being Special Forces.

Williams peered around his taller colleague, looking exasperated. "No need to go to Defcon One McGarrett, jeez. Could be some kinda coincidence, maybe? They got a letter from Greg Lestrade, after all."

McGarrett turned his frown on Danny Williams. "A letter _purporting_ to be from Lestrade, whoever he is," he said. 

Williams rolled his eyes. "Yeah, nice display of vocabulary there, Steven, but Lestrade does actually exist. He's that DI from the Yard I met at the conference in Amsterdam. And will you tone it down and quit mentally frisking them, for Christ's sake? They don't look like Wo Fat's usual minions." Williams turned to John and Sherlock. "I apologize for my colleague here – Lieutenant Commander Steven McGarrett, ex-SEAL, US Navy Reserve. Old habits die hard with him and you kinda took us by surprise." 

John nudged Sherlock. "How's that 'element of surprise' working for you now, Sherlock?" he muttered. 

Beside him, Sherlock dismissed the issue with a gesture. "When can we talk with your forensic entomologist about the post mortem findings?" McGarrett's eyes narrowed, and Williams looked quizzical. "The _Chrysomya Ruficacies_ and _Creophillus Maxillosus_ larvae found in the corpse," Sherlock elaborated. 

"The what?" asked Williams. "And by larvae, you mean–"

"Maggots," said McGarrett, locked in a staring battle with Sherlock. John assumed both of them were trying to tell if the other had sold out to this mastermind guy, Wo Fat. 

"Oh, man, I was afraid of that," muttered Williams. "Jeez, I hate bugs, especially the goddam huge roaches they got here." He spread his hands a foot apart. "Way big: my old apartment was a zoo." He focussed on John, the only other person in the room not engaged in staremageddon, and made a face, shrugging. "The tropics, whaddaya gonna do?"

Maybe stop wearing a tie, John thought, smiling and nodding because _someone_ had to keep up the social niceties. He elbowed Sherlock sharply in the side, muttering "Knock it off!" Williams seemed to be wrangling McGarrett back into line as well, whispering something in a fierce undertone about "probably nothing" and "aneurysm-face". That couldn't be right.

McGarrett waved Lestrade's letter at them with an almost apologetic expression. "It's just kind of unorthodox, y'know? I mean, this guy Lestrade vouches for you but you're – what? Private dicks?"

" _I_ am a consulting detective, assisting New Scotland Yard," said Sherlock frostily. "John Watson is my…colleague." John groaned inwardly, because right there in that pause, there it all was. The bizarre cases, nearly getting killed together, saving each other's lives, sharing rooms and so much more, like not being sure if he wanted to kill Sherlock or kiss him. Well, they were pretty far down the kissing route by now, but it could easily have gone the other way.

McGarrett looked unimpressed. "Yeah, well we're a serious-crime task force, so I'm a little reluctant to give out intel to a couple of Brits with no credentials to speak of."

"I was an army doctor, if that's any help," John offered. "Captain John Watson, retired on medical grounds after an injury. You can look me up on-line." 

"Afghanistan?" asked McGarrett, eyeing John with more interest. Sherlock shifted restlessly, although whether he was unhappy to no longer be the focus of McGarrett's attention, or that John was now in the spotlight, was unclear. 

"Yeah," John confirmed. "You?"

McGarrett nodded. "Four years, a while back now." 

Williams clapped his hands together. "So, this is peachy. Two ex-army types and a couple of detectives. No wonder we're all getting on like a house on fire."

"Navy," snapped McGarrett, frowning again. Williams rolled his eyes, and John suppressed a grin. 

"If we've quite finished with all that," said Sherlock impatiently, "I repeat. When can we talk with your forensic entomologist about the post mortem findings?"

McGarrett raised an eyebrow at Williams, who made a face. "Don't look at me, Steve, that's the kinda stuff Chin always knows." He looked around. "Where the hell _are_ Chin and Kono, anyway?"

"Sent them out to get lunch," said McGarrett, looking smug. 

"Aw, jeez, you know what that means," complained Williams, blowing out a dramatic breath and scowling. "Weird pizza with–"

Two people burst in through the main entrance, clutching pizza boxes. "Hawaiian, anyone?" called an attractive young woman with black hair lightened by sun and salt water, setting her stack of boxes down on a desk. Her companion, a slender man with cheekbones to rival Sherlock's, had another bag and a tray of take-away cups. "Salad and coffee," he announced, then, noticing John and Sherlock, "Oh, hi." He put down the bags, careful with the tray of coffees, and dusted off his hands, extending one to John. "Hi there, I'm Detective Lieutenant Chin Ho Kelly."

"Doctor John Watson." They shook, then John gestured at Sherlock, who was looking put out by this further delay. "This is Sherlock Holmes. We're working with New Scotland Yard on a case with some links here." Sherlock shook hands as well.

Williams had pulled McGarrett aside and was whispering fiercely at him, prodding him in the chest with a finger. McGarrett was fingering his gun and still sending Sherlock and John tense glances, and John wondered if they were in some sort of trouble, despite the tension being broken by the arrival of lunch. The young woman returned from a back room with a stack of paper plates, plastic cutlery, and styrofoam cups. She set it all down on the desk beside the food and came over, shaking hands as well. "Officer Kono Kalakaua," she said. "I'm the rookie on the team."

Chin rolled his eyes. "Yeah, cuz, like you don't run rings around the rest of us most of the time," he said, grinning at her affectionately. John introduced himself and Sherlock again, grimacing as Sherlock almost bowed over her hand and Kono's eyes widened. Sherlock could be such a ham.

Chin waved at the food. "Come join us for lunch."

"Oh," said John. "If you're sure…?"

"Yeah, c'mon," said Kono. "We got plenty. Never know when you'll be pulling an all-nighter around here."

Williams and McGarrett wandered over and everyone pulled chairs up to the desk with the food, sharing the jumbo containers of coffee out into smaller cups and grabbing boxes of salad and pizza slices. Williams got into a diatribe about the abomination that was pineapple on pizza, but John quite liked it, taking a second piece. 

Beside John, Sherlock, who had been eating with mechanical concentration, cleared his throat and shifted. 

"No," said John curtly. "Not when we're eating, Sherlock." Sherlock shot him an annoyed glare. 

John shrugged at the others. "He was going to get into the forensic entomology stuff again. He's kind of tunnel-vision about things sometimes." 

"Oh yeah," said Williams, flicking a sardonic look at McGarrett. "Tell me about it."

"Ew," said Kono, through a mouthful of Hawaiian pizza. "I've been studying all that for my Sergeant's exam."

"It's about the case you mentioned?" asked Chin, sipping coffee. He indicated the letter from Lestrade he'd been reading. "You think one of Wo Fat's men turned up in London? Hmmm. Long way away." 

"They _are_ an international criminal enterprise, and there's a large East Asian community in London," Sherlock said, a little sniffily.

"Oh, man, that accent's so cool," said Kono, grinning. Chin raised a brow. "Yours is too," she assured John hastily.

John shook his head, rueful. He knew Sherlock was the charismatic one. Speaking of charisma… he looked across at McGarrett. Tall, dark and dangerous, just how John liked them. He caught Williams glaring at him and looked down, grinning. Taken, without a doubt. Beside him, Sherlock scowled and tapped his foot, oblivious to the interchange and unhappy with the delay. It did seem odd to have been roped into a social occasion when they'd come to discuss a case, but maybe this was the much-vaunted Hawaiian hospitality. The airline brochures had been clear that they were to expect unusual levels of friendliness so perhaps pineapple pizza feasts were common. There was a sad lack of flower leis, though. He tried to imagine Sherlock glowering from under a swathe of hibiscus and frangipani garlands, and snorted.

+++++++++++++++

The food had been tidied away, and Sherlock was deep in conversation with Chin about an expert at the local university the task force had consulted before, when the main doors opened and two new people arrived.

Chin leaped up. "Joanie!" he exclaimed, hugging the woman enthusiastically. 

"Hey, Chin," said the slender woman, dark hair pulled into a ponytail, hugging him back. She was trailing a short, scruffy man with a wary, haunted look. Her boyfriend? This place seemed a lot more laid-back than New Scotland Yard. Not a lot of hugging there, in John's experience. 

Kono raced over, and the new woman turned to her. "And little Kono," she said, and they hugged as well. "Not so little now, I guess. Good to see you both."

Chin grinned and waved a hand at Williams and McGarrett. "It's Joan – the flight must've been early." 

Kono grinned at John and Sherlock. "Grand Central Station here today. Joan and Chin are old friends. Chin studied in New York for a while and they met at university. Then he brought her here on vacation and I taught her to surf." Kono drew Joan over. "This is John – Joan. Joan – John."

"Could get confusing," said John, smiling. "Hi, I'm John Watson, nice to meet you."

Joan raised her eyebrows. " _Joan_ Watson. Hmmm. Spooky." 

"Really?" asked John, laughing. "Serves us right for having commonly occurring names, I guess. Quite a coincidence. Next thing you'll be telling me you're a doctor, too." There was a pause, and Joan looked a little pained. 

"Actually…"

"No, really?" asked John, incredulous. " Hey, Sherlock!" He turned, to find Sherlock locked in another staring match with the scruffy guy who'd arrived with Joan. They both turned expectantly and looked at John. 

"Yes?" they asked, in stereo. 

Williams, who'd been leaning on the wall by McGarrett watching the circus unfold, hummed the _Twilight Zone_ theme. 

"Sherlock Holmes," said the new guy to John. He turned back to John's Sherlock who was looking put out. "This is unexpected. Hawaii's the last place I'd expect to meet you, cousin."

John frowned, baffled. "He's got your name?"

John's Sherlock huffed out an annoyed breath. "It's a family name – at least one male gets called Sherlock in any generation." He waved a hand at the scruffy guy. "Our parents either overdid it or failed to coordinate. Typical." He frowned at scruffy Sherlock. "No harm, really, but then he decided to emulate me in the detection field."

Scruffy Sherlock leaned towards John. "Other way around. He copied _me_ in fact, and in more than just the detecting, eh, Joan?" He grinned at John. "Call me Sherlock." John's Sherlock looked outraged. 

"Yeah, no," said Williams. "That's gonna get weird real fast." He pointed at scruffy Sherlock. "You're Holmes," then swivelled and pointed at John's Sherlock, "and you're Sherlock. Deal?"

Both Sherlocks glared at each other, then said, simultaneously, "Deal."

"But, but…" said John to Williams, head spinning from _two_ Sherlocks and his own female doppelganger. Maybe it was the heat? Could he be delirious? "When we…you must have thought…" 

"That you were playin' us? Oh yeah," said Williams. McGarrett glared at both Sherlocks. "We figured you were impostors at first. See, we'd called in Joan and Sherlock – I mean Holmes – from New York, to help with the Wo Fat case. Then you two show up with almost the same names, but lookin' nothing like them. So I called Holmes here – they were still at the airport – and he figured out who you were. We plied you with lunch until Holmes could arrive and confirm your identities." He spread his hands, grinning. "Confused? You will be…"

"It sounds as though we came close to being arrested," said John. 

"Hey – don't take it personally," Williams said. "We thought you were part of Wo Fat's plot to destroy the Five-0!" 

"Hmph," Sherlock muttered, outraged. "I'm probably your only chance of saving it, in fact." 

John rolled his eyes, catching Joan doing the same. They both suppressed a grin. 

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, cousin," said Holmes. He smiled, showing teeth. "Not their _only_ chance." Sherlock snorted, eyeing his cousin competitively. 

_Great_ , thought John. _Two massive egos crammed into one taskforce._

"What do you think, _Sherlock?_ " Holmes somehow imbued the name with several layers of sardonic meaning. "Reckon we can work together, or is it all going to go boom?"

Which was when the statue of King Kamehameha out in front of the building exploded.

+++++++++++++++

\- the end -


End file.
